


Ichor and Aureum

by fandomfairytales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assassin Hermione, Cerberus is triple the slobber and cuteness, Comfort/Angst, Dante elements, Denial, Draco/Hades, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fallen Angel, God is taking over by force, Hermione/Archangel, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Romeo and Juliet elements, Slow Burn, Smut, War between Heaven and the Underworld, but a whole lot of, but i couldnt resist some feelsy smut, im glad i got to try my had at something less fluffy than my usual, judeo-christian fused with greco-roman mythology, minus the suicide, no ust here, some beauty and the beast elements, this is ultimately a romance because i am incapable of avoiding love stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 20:03:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18667429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfairytales/pseuds/fandomfairytales
Summary: Written for the DFW Gogo fest 2019.Based on the prompt/ gorgeous aesthetic by Felgia_Starr so, I've done my best to give it a little bit of everything (the only thing I couldn't work into this franken-prompt-fic was an accidental marriage what with the word limit).(angst, sad/bittersweet endings, smut, accidental marriage, soulmates, mythology, divine comedy (Dante)I truly hope you enjoy this :)





	Ichor and Aureum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Felgia_Starr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felgia_Starr/gifts).



> Hermione had been told since her creation that she was built for peace, made to bring light and joy to those infantile humans below. Her selection cut her to the moral quick; the archangel to end the war, sent off with fanfare and ceremonies glorifying her role as an assassin. 
> 
> It didn’t make her mission right. As she hurtled toward the entrance of the Underworld, she couldn’t help but wonder what coming face to face with Hades (better known as Draco), Lord of the Underworld, collector of souls would be like.

 

oOo

_“The day that man allows true love to appear, those things which are well made will fall into cofusion and will overturn everything we believe to be right and true.”_  
 _― Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy._

oOo

The only thing left was the sensation of the fall.

Long and arduous, a sickening thrill growing with every second that passed; the glory of heaven above her, fading from view and attainment as she spiralled between the stars, beyond earth to be enveloped by the darkness below, her wings little more than useless appendages as she fought for consciousness.

Outcast. Misfit. Chosen. The day was full of contradictions.

“You know why I have given you this mission, why you must take up the sword against our last remaining enemy?”

God’s words rang in her mind, looping endlessly as she made the journey into the unknown: The brightest of us is the only one that can withstand the darkness.

What a farce.

She had been told since her creation that she was built for peace, made to bring light and joy to those infantile humans below. Her selection cut her to the moral quick; the archangel to end the war, sent off with fanfare and ceremonies glorifying her role as an assassin.

No mention of the pain falling would cause her, disconnecting from heaven in the most violent fashion, a comet streaking towards oblivion, into enemy territory with a mission to murder the only immortal from the pantheons left to rival the nameless God. She would be cleaning up her creator’s mess, as it was, having left the lonely God to his devices far too long, until, suddenly he decided he had plans for his realm.

“All part of the grand design.” she was informed.

Still, that didn’t make her mission right. As she hurtled toward the entrance of his realm, she couldn’t help but wonder what coming face to face with Hades, Lord of the Underworld, collector of souls would be like.

 

oOo

There was something about the darkness of the manor that comforted Hades. His life in the underworld had many inconveniences, dealing with the souls in each layer, torturing them, merely one out of a plethora, it was enough to drain the vitality out of any immortal.

But at the centre of it all was his home, steadfast and soothing, standing at the core of the ultimate tragedy that was his view of the landscape.

At its gates lounged his faithful guard dog, triple the slobber and love, Cerberus was his family, his companion in the desolate reaches of his realm. The lack of connection the only curse he really had to suffer in his service.

Funny creatures those humans, so stubborn despite being misinformed about the one presiding over their fate. They certainly found his presence unsettling.

Many a soul came face to face with him and remained unable to grasp the concept of ‘Hades’ being less of a name and more of a title, a nom de guerre. The Greeks couldn’t have got it more wrong; the Romans were close enough, looking to space, but there was the matter of that ridiculous name; Pluto. (though he would be rightfully annoyed at the demotion of his ‘namesake’ planet years in the future, so much for gratitude).

His preferred moniker was Draco. For a constellation he had only seen a handful of times; but the name was barely spoken among the dead, for who among them could bear to be informal with the king of Hell? Who could ever understand the responsibility he bore?

‘Hell’, as the humans now preferred, was more than just his domain, he was connected to it in a way none of the other Olympians could understand. Up there, on their glorified hill, they lazed and feasted while he toiled under the weight of the status quo, inextricable from his role.

So, the moment there was a breach on the surface layer, he sensed it. The disturbance jarring enough to wake him.

With a swift kick, he untangled himself from his bed and snatched up the nearest weapon, the weight of his sword providing the comfort he needed as he hastily dressed and called for Cerberus.

The soul’s entry into the second layer was worse. Pain shot through his skull, his vision a blur of colours mortals didn’t know existed.

Still, he remained unafraid, focused on timing his arrival at the lowest level with that of the intruder. It was the only explanation for the assault he was experiencing; invasion.

The breach on the third made him stagger, the fourth he sagged against Cerberus’ hide, screaming while his body resonated with his realm’s fear.

He caught up with the being in the fifth circle, it was falling so fast he could hardly make out what it was. Falling, surrounded by flames, he wondered if it was some creature of Zeus’ sent down for eternal punishment (the last time that had happened, he’d greeted Atlas before dropping the world on his shoulders).

By the sixth gate, he was feeling dizzy and weak, his muscles spasming as he tried to resist the physical warning of his realm’s distress.

On the seventh, the king of the Underworld stumbled, his face pressed into the dirt while his faithful pet snapped at the harpies that flocked to his show of weakness. He was no suicide case, he didn’t belong there, the moment he stood they dispersed, fearing his wrath.

For the first time in a millennium, fear struck. Draco’s heart began to race as he continued to journey down, doing his best to ignore his body’s protests.

Through the fraudsters he travelled, legs weak and shaking; he allowed Cerberus to supplement his waning balance, a high, worrying whine informing him of his familiar’s concern.

And finally, bedrock; The ninth circle.

He passed out when the creature careened through the final gate, splintering it into a million pieces he would _not_ be cleaning up; his last thought before he blacked out, how glad he was that he hadn’t attempted to make the journey alone as Cerberus cushioned his fall.

In typical fashion (as he did most mornings), he woke to the slimy sensation of Cerberus licking his face, significantly smaller than he had been, Draco batted away three affectionate, well-meaning tongues (it was a matter of getting used to his mix of singular and plural to describe his favourite hellhound) and set his mind to the task of pulling himself up and drawing his weapon; body still singing with agony and a pure feeling of discomfort so adverse he wanted to run.

Whatever lay at the heart of his realm, smouldering in its crater was perilous.

So, of course, he was going to find out what it was. The humans’ rule about curiosity certainly did not apply to him.

 

oOo

Making his way down the remaining steps, Draco inspected the damage, lamenting the work that would need to be done to repair the holes to the fabric of his kingdom. Cerberus trailing behind him, (faces pulled into what Draco knew was a thinly veiled attempt at appearing intimidating), he kicked at debris in his path for entertainment until he reached the lip of the crater.

Peering down he was surprised by what he found.

A mass of white feathers, striking where they rested on the scorched, blackened earth

A Hippogriff? Perhaps a Pegasus? Maybe a Griffin?

He couldn’t tell without getting closer. Sliding down the wall of the depression, he wondered if it had even survived, a fall like that, the carnage it wrought, no creature could possib-

Did it just move?

He held his breath and waited, watching for signs of life until finally a moment later he saw it; the shallowest intake of breath.

He dusted himself off and edged closer, wary but curious; whatever it was had cocooned itself in its wings, seeking refuge behind sooty, mussed feathers.

Reaching out a pale, blueish hand, he brought himself as close to the brink of touching as he dared; his opposite hand still firmly grasping the hilt of his weapon as a precaution.

There was a jolt, a spark and a wave of energy that immediately blew him back when his fingers met a soft, downy patch of its wing.

All in all, it was not a good day for the King; as he tallied how many times he had hit the ground since sensing this _thing’s_ arrival, he mourned the state of his robes, the black no longer quite so pristine and torn in a few places.

“What are you?” He breathed in awe.

Another rustle from the creature and he jolted. It was definitely alive, and apparently making a valiant attempt to pick itself up.

“Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.”

Since when did the God of Death coo at injured critters?

He took a tentative step forward, whispering promises he hoped wouldn’t fall on deaf ears; for some strange reason, he didn’t feel like fighting whatever it was.

Standing over it once again, he reached down, his hand hovering above the creature; it flinched.

“Take my hand... On my honour, I’ll help you.”

Its wings seemed to curl tighter and he felt his mind throb with disappointment at the self-preserving gesture, until a slender, distinctly feminine hand reached through and searched for his own.

He grasped it gently, taking in the feel of silken skin and warmth as the tension slowly leaked out of the person? (He still wasn’t sure what it was).

Her wings slowly unfurled, revealing a woman… Of sorts, she was too ethereal to be remotely human. She was more beautiful, more enthralling than any mortal that had ever graced his territory; scraped, bloodied and filthy, she still glowed, radiating a golden aura that enticed and deterred with its divine purity.

She couldn’t possibly be something of their Pantheon’s creation.

He would have heard about her. Beauty like that didn’t stay secret for long; certainly not with Zeus sticking his cosmic cock (he smirked at his use of alliteration) where it didn’t belong, upsetting the balance and his wife.

Realising he had been staring openly for far too long, Draco tore his eyes away, skin flushing deeper cobalt as the ichor in his veins surfaced, responding to his intensifying embarrassment.

Slow and steady he supported her as she stood, the pain of his realm’s warning dissipating as he assured it she posed no threat, wobbling and concussed she could barely take a step. He winced, fresh worry marring his brow as her wings failed to right themselves behind her; so bent out of shape the sight sickened him, enough to force him to thoughtlessly gather her in his arms and carry her back.

After acquainting himself with the newest arrival, Cerberus was happy to help his master bear her weight, going so far as to allow her onto his back when she regained enough consciousness to hold on.

The return to his chambers was far kinder than the descent. The souls in the upper realms understood the King was not to be trifled with, seeing the damage done, they still retained enough mental capacity to instinctively keep their distance as he passed through; to test him while vulnerable would be the end of them, a God protecting himself from uprising would not be likely to consider mercy as he dispatched them.

Hauling her limp form off the back of his giant hound, he settled her on his bed as comfortably as he could. Her cumbersome wings proved a challenge, so, he arranged them as best he could, aware that his attempt would hardly be adequate.

Turning his attention to Cerberus he kindly dismissed him, sending him back to the manor’s courtyard with a few extra scratches under his chins and the promise of steaks upon his return.

Once his tail had wagged out the door, paws clacking away down the obsidian hall, Draco rushed toward his wardrobe, snatching up the human medical kit he kept there. A useless thing in the underworld but something of a hobby. If he had to preside over death, may as well understand the various reasons it occurred; such studies pointlessly came with the knowledge of how to remedy them.

Rifling through the bag until he found what he needed, he immediately set his mind to patching up her wounds, cleaning and covering her burns with soft, cotton bandages and pointedly ignoring her unclothed beauty, mottled with golden blood.

She hardly stirred as he worked and he felt guilty when he spied nectar and ambrosia sitting out in the open, almost taunting him with its restorative properties; he couldn’t risk killing her by accident or wasting what little he had in his stores should the divine food and drink be incompatible with her system.

So, he continued to toil by hand, working his way up until finally, it was time to tend her wings. He paused for a moment, studying and trying to comprehend the complexity of their construction. Winged creatures weren’t common in Hell (those that were developed smooth, bat-like wings), and he had certainly never attempted healing one. Running his hands over the ruffled feathers, he tried to get a feel for the damage, mind turning as he wondered how to reset them.

One wrong move, the slightest pressure and she shot up, a scream burning in her throat as she searched for her attacker.

“Peace-” He pressed a hand to her shoulder in a vain attempt to keep her still “-I won’t hurt you. Well, no more than I have to...”

“How can I be so sure?” She replied hoarsely.

“I gave my word; swore on my honour I would help you.”

“And I’m supposed to trust in that? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in Hell.”

He considered revealing himself as it’s overlord, but thought better of it; beauty, no matter how considerable could not overcome distrust, he was wiser than that, oblivious as she seemed.

“It is, and you managed to find the one person down here willing to help you.”

“Who do I have to thank for such kindness?” she gestured to his rather shoddy attempt at splinting her wrist and winced.

“I’m Draco.”

“For the constellation? You don’t look like much of a dragon… No scales, teeth look normal; are you hiding a tail under those robes then?”

He smirked; her blunt wit shining through despite her pain disarmed his aloof front for a brief moment.

“Oh, and I suppose you _don’t_ look like some kind of creature capable of mystical feats? Breathe any fire lately?”

Her unexpected laugh rang through his chambers, high and lilting; an utterly pleasurable sound until it transformed into a sob, the strain of joy too much for her to bear. When she calmed he allowed her to continue, prompting her with what he hoped was a reassuring nod.

“I’m an angel.”

He looked at her blankly, awaiting an explanation; he’d never seen the likes of her, never heard of any creature by the name ‘Angel’. She reluctantly explained when it became clear his silence was borne of confusion

“…You know… Messengers of God, his chosen sons and daughters doing his good work in heaven and enacting his will on earth?”

“And your name is Angel?”

“What?” She giggled “No, no; my name is Hermione.”

“But you’re not Greek?!”

He had to stop himself clamping a hand over his mouth, blurting out the first thing that came to mind, no matter how rude. He quickly focused on stuffing his embarrassment in his medical bag, along with the other odds and ends left over.

“No, I’m not… My Father would say it’s ironic.”

“And you both come from Heaven? Right?”

She nodded, her hair bouncing forward, out of control when she moved.

“Isn’t it a little pretentious, calling himself ‘God’ singular?”

She pursed her lips, eyes flitting away in a hasty attempt to direct her gaze anywhere but him (had his people skills been less rusty, he might have noticed the guilt lurking behind her façade) and he wondered why his jest had fallen flat. There was living proof more than one god existed, varying religions with overseers that mortals placed faith in, titled _properly_ ; God had always been a label, not a name.

In a flailing attempt to right the conversation (or at least break the awkward silence), he quickly changed the subject.

“I, uhm… I need to set the bones in your wings…”

‘Way to be blunt’ he thought dryly.

“Why are you helping me?”

She seemed stunned by her own question, her expression matching his bewilderment perfectly.

He had no idea.

 

oOo

Hermione sat still as she could, trying to hide the trembling weakness permeating every sinew of her body. His soft (strangely warm) hands binding her flesh was welcome mercy she hadn’t expected. She gritted her teeth when he started on her wings, delicate bones crunching and popping as they snapped back into place to begin healing; she talked him through it, glad to have someone to assist considering she couldn’t reach.

She knew exactly who was helping her; the black robes, flaming blue-grey eyes, perfectly coiffed blond hair and cobalt tinged skin were all dead giveaways, pun intended. Not to mention the twenty foot, three-headed, Staffordshire bull terrier that looked at his master like every other pup in creation. If he wanted to hide his identity, he really should have tried harder, but then why help her at all, if he were that wary, she would have been dead already… It bothered her.

Why? Was another matter entirely. A kindness she couldn’t comprehend.

Unless he didn’t know.

But how could that be possible? Zeus had been waging war on her kind for centuries, the king of hell would surely be aware they had all di-

Oh…

He rather literally lived under a rock, about as far beneath as one could get.

Hermione’s heart softened at the thought, a wry smile gracing her features before she could catch it and stuff it down with the other emotions she worked so hard to hide. In his presence, it would be too encouraging and for some reason, she didn’t want to let him get friendly.

She had been _made_ to kill him; but something about the soft way his eyes blazed, his hands gently tending to her, his self-satisfied little smirk at his own humour and success and the way he blushed a deeper cobalt each time he caught her eye, told her there was more she could steal from him than just his title and realm.

And Lord help her, she wanted to take it, wanted to see the look in his eyes and know she possessed everything he had in the palm of her hand, hers to cradle with careful exhilaration. She knew already that she would not crush him, but could not yet admit that she might not be able to kill him.

But she couldn’t let him distract her, easy as it would be to manipulate him, toy with the immortal for her pleasure she inevitably knew it would be playing with fire; it would be too easy to lose herself to the con or in his soulful grey eyes… Still, her mission remained plain as day; drive her dagger through Hades’ heart the second she was in close proximity, stay long enough to watch the ichor run from his body and the life leave his eyes.

However, there was nothing in her briefing that covered hindrances like her injuries. She could hardly protect herself, let alone lift her dagger… It was nothing more than a stay of execution, such a thing weighed heavy on her heart and conscience. But deep down she knew there was another reason, one that couldn’t be explained so easily; she didn’t want to hurt him.

She would have to get to know him, rely on him, what else could possibly happen under his constant care? No chance of speeding up her healing without returning to Heaven either… So, there would be no hasty death for the King, she would eventually mend and murder him after gaining his trust.

Her stomach turned and for a moment she thought she might be sick until a tiny unknown voice in the deepest recesses of her mind made an alarming suggestion.

‘You could always betray your father?’

She flinched; the voice sounded so much like her own it was terrifying.

Hermione was many things; skilled warrior, the light bringer, a divine being capable of enacting miracles, but traitor was not one of them (was it?). God had his plan and she followed what was set for her without question or argument.

She even fell gladly; with barely a grimace until she came crashing through the structure of the Underworld.

And yet within an hour of arriving she was doubting? Her constitution was resolute, no deviations for as long as she had existed… Now there was definitive proof she was capable of change, of disobeying… Of rebellion.

She quickly shut down such thoughts, she had her quest, Heaven needed to claim Hades’ territory and she would not give up her task lightly; not even for a pair of pretty eyes. Still, there was something about him that captivated her, that made her second guess.

Killing someone that showed kindness, that helped her in her time of need felt sinful. The humans loved to talk about sin but how many of them truly understood it? There had always been taboos enforced by society, but ‘Sin’; That hadn’t been a real concept among mortals until God decreed it.

It certainly didn’t apply to the best of God’s creations, angels were immune to the temptations of mortals (weren’t they?). Therefore, when she was asked by God himself to kill the Hades, she assumed it was righteous and pure.

Faced with the reality of him, things were different and while she worked to put her façade back together; inside, she shattered; cleaved into smaller and smaller pieces with every kindness he did her.

A month or two later, when it became a matter of rending atoms apart, she finally understood that she loved him.

In a matter of weeks, she had decided she would willingly give up her home, her place at God’s table for the last remaining challenger. Her target, her Father’s final rival, the one with untold powers she had been taught to hate for the simple fact he was different, that he proved the reality her father spun was of his own creation, a lie told to her brothers and sisters to manipulate them into a war none of them had wanted.

How many siblings had she lost on Olympus? Thousands? The Greco-Romans cut them down as though they were fragile as swallows until the Archangels arrived to turn the tide; coming down from on high to save them…

She was a traitor; and the more she thought about it, keeping her secrets was betraying Draco too. She knew what her kind had done and pointedly kept it to herself, afraid of losing whatever tentative thing they were building.

As the weeks passed, she forgot herself, she let herself be. She became a mirror image of the self she had once been, one that loved games, smiled more, played into the heated glances, relished in touch… There was nothing closer to heaven than his hands on her skin and she finally understood the irony of her fall. Without the music of heaven filling her head every hour of her existence, she discovered all that it had blocked out.

She found herself among it too; Found sensation, found sensuality, found lust, burning desire that ran deep as her trust for Draco-Hades… His title didn’t matter, she found want; at the core of everything that made up her being, want pulsed, driving her motivation forward, making her need him more and more.

Time and togetherness went hand in hand, he taught her about his realm, talked about the connection it shared with him, how it operated; when she could walk with little support he invited her to attend his meetings, sit beside him in the great hall as he listened to reports; she became involved. When the day was done, he would escort her to his library, giving her the freedom to learn more than had ever been allowed in heaven; topics that had been forbidden were at her fingertips and even he hadn’t read them all.

At first, they had sat apart, afraid to be close, of what touch might do to their resolves. That had changed quickly, they gravitated towards each other until one night she rested her head on his thigh, knees up to support her book, her wings turned non-corporeal for comfort and felt his hand absentmindedly running through her hair.

Ironically, the final thing she found was shame, masquerading as insecurity. It caused her to hide her attraction. When he touched her, every shred of attention went towards keeping herself calm, no involuntary reactions, raised feathers or shivers until he was gone, and she was alone; then she discovered other things. Her fingers wandered over her body, seeking something no angel in their right mind would think to look for… And when she was done, she could never be certain if it was release or relief as she lay panting, stars dancing across her vision, as she came down from a height above that of her home.

But she wasn’t in her right mind, was she?

Somehow, she inherently knew one other vulnerable truth about the God of death; neither was he.

 

oOo

Draco tended to his ‘invader’ for weeks before he saw a marked improvement. Her cuts and wounds healed slowly (something that no doubt had to do with the lifelessness of his realm), bones gradually fused and eventually, she was able to walk around in small doses, leaning her slight frame against his for support, until one day she walked on her own and _chose_ to stay by his side.

All the while, he got to know her. How they continued to find things to discuss was a mystery to him, but he found himself able to converse with her on all manner of topics, from epic tales of mortals they had encountered or influenced, magic and immortality (turned out the ambrosia he had would indeed have been useless), to simpler topics like home and family.

The more she spoke the more he understood the restraint he witnessed behind her eyes. As he let his curiosity run rampant, he met wall after wall; some she battered down, others she reinforced. Though it made him wonder, what could someone like her possibly have to hide?

Therefore, he spent most of his time away from Hermione wondering what was going on in her head.

One moment she would be open, laughing and joking, the next sombre and cold. Her moods were worthy of the weather’s best tantrums (though really it would be apt to title them Zeus’ tantrums considering he controlled such things) and she quickly became a puzzle he had to crack.

As he went about his daily duties, judging souls and checking on his inhabitants, he continued to wonder. Then out of the blue, an idea struck; well more of a solution to the fact he had been distracted and disinterested in his work (to the annoyance of his underlings).

He hadn’t left the Underworld in centuries, hadn’t spoken to a God, including Hermes, in who knows how long, he hadn’t been bothered to visit recently and for a messenger he wasn’t all that forthcoming with the latest news; it seemed no one was really comfortable lingering in his realm, though he rather appreciated the solitude.

If he wanted to find out more about her, about her species and why she seemed so hesitant to let him help her at first, he would have to go topside and ask.

Making up his mind and forming a plan was easy. The following day he checked Hermione’s dressings, asked his usual questions regarding her needs (books were always top of the list, though he suspected she was still in need of some pain relief and courteously brought that too) and settled in for a morning meal filled with small talk and unacknowledged stares.

She liked to think he didn’t catch the way her eyes lingered on him first thing in the morning, helping her limp over to the table, seating her comfortably before serving her a selection of fruits and berries with a kind, little smile he only spared for her.

She would glance between bites and he would try not to blush under her scrutiny knowing that clad in his pyjamas with his hair in disarray, he must be quite the ridiculous sight. Still, her cheeks glowed gold, aureum rising when she felt she had been too bold, or came too close to being caught; it became something of a game, see who broke first… When they locked eyes and refused to part for a minute and a half, he had thought it was over, but the very next morning they were back at it again, neither could resist.

He headed for his personal exit with thoughts of her filling his mind, reaching a gate mortals wouldn’t stumble upon or see him using, he rose through the levels of the underworld, anticipation building until he found himself in a field, surrounded by flowers at the foot of Olympus.

“ACHOO!”

He was all too suddenly reminded why he disliked the surface. It seemed immortals, particularly those not often exposed to the mortal coil were not fully immune to the effects of pollen. He rubbed his eyes, frowning contemptuously at his surroundings and the speed at which they affected him before continuing his journey.

Climbing the great mountain was easy, but what he discovered at its peak was unexpected. Once magnificent buildings lay ruined at his feet, the forges long cold and the hearth… Hestia’s bones lay protectively before the dead heart of the heavens, grotesque and tragic; her soul had never entered his realm, but then again, Gods weren’t made to die.

Black tears tracked down his face as he reached the remnants of the Pantheon; speared on the steps, more skeletons, their attire clues to their identities… Aphrodite, Demeter, Dionysius, Hephaestus…

His family’s remains lay in situ among the debris of battle. His lip quivered as his grief threatened to overtake him. When he decided to visit his family, the scene before him had been the last thing he expected (except perhaps a warm welcome). Guilt pulsed painfully in his veins, if only he’d seen them more often, let go of the petty disagreements that kept him away, he could have helped, could have done something, might have known…

A tiny voice in his mind provided him with an uncomfortable piece of logic.

‘And if you had, you would be dead too.’

But at least he would have stood with them.

Eyes brimming with remorseful tears, he made his way through the wreckage of their majestic hall. He’d never thought he cared this much, seeing death was normal for him, but for the first time it was personal. He passed Hera, Artemis and Athena, still clad in their armour, Ares, Poseidon and Apollo nearby; felled, in a clear attempt to aid Zeus who lay at the center of it all, his skeleton partly draped over his throne, Hermes prone at his feet, stabbed in the back with a blade that looked eerily familiar.

Silver and gleaming, it was oddly shaped, somewhere between a sword and a dagger, carved with symbols he couldn’t comprehend… Hermione had one just like it, with two slight differences; hers was gilded and bore a flame design running from hilt to tip.

Suspicion broke over him like a wave, cresting as he doubled back, seeking confirmation, hoping he was wrong.

Remains of their adversaries laid alongside his family, but he had been too blinded by grief to notice the extra bones among them. Bones he now knew how to set, time had simply degraded their feathers, obscuring the obvious.

Understanding smarted; He retched. The destruction around him was horrifying and he realised just how careless he’d been, ignoring the conscious warnings of his realm and allowing one of _them_ in.

Betrayal stung; How could she? He’d helped her, healed her, clothed her, sheltered her from the merciless landscape in his own home, without ever stopping to wonder why she was there in the first place. He knew better now.

Rage smouldered; her kind had massacred his family; Slaughtered them, destroyed their seat of power… For what? And he’d let her reside with him, without knowing what she was capable of. Was she just waiting for the right time to kill him?

Indignation incinerated; How _dare_ she? there was no possible way she didn’t know what her race had done, and she had kept the truth from him. lied. Sat at his table and talked of war and life with him, all the while conspiring to hide her secret.

Detachment chilled; he turned away from all that had once encompassed home and started back down the mountain feeling more alone than he ever had, with nothing and no one left to call him back to the surface, he descended into the first circle of Hell intent on making his _guest_ pay for her treachery.

He was particularly adept at just punishment.

It was a single-minded focus that drove him, he stormed through each circle, revelling in the screams and horrors beyond limbo, letting their righteous castigations fuel him, knowing that another would feel the wrath and justice of the underworld.

He sighted the manor gates in the distance, feeling the void of darkness his home resided in as keenly as he felt the ground beneath his feet.

His mind open to the possibility she had nefarious intentions made him sick. Weeks spent caring for the winged woman, believing she was inherently benevolent, ignoring his latent instincts warning him something was off.

He’d always had a limited amount of control over magic, lacking the skill of Hecate (he wondered briefly if she was still alive), but he still managed to blast open the gates and door as he approached his home. His robes fluttered behind him as he searched the maze of halls, his own blade held at the ready (and an angel’s silver one tucked away as precautionary evidence).

His heart once dormant, screamed in protest. Over the past few months, it had opened as it never had before; letting her take it, willing, aware, or not was the biggest mistake he had ever made. He thought of her smile each time he presented her with new reading material, her smug look when she bested him at chess, the sound of her voice thanking him quietly for helping her preen (how soft her feathers were under his hands, free of her golden blood she called aureum), the look in her eyes that followed; something between wistful sadness and thanks that made him wonder if she felt the same as he.

Because, in reality, it took less than a week to fall for the intelligent, wild-haired, beauty residing in his guest suite. Everything about her was made to entice him, she was his match. Equal parts sweet and sharp, witty and well-read, with an understanding and outlook regarding the world that made him weak at the knees, for all the similarities it bore to his own opinions.

Caring for someone the way he had was bound to lead him down an abyss of emotions, cut off from his feelings for so long, hitting the bottom was more painful than he could ever imagine. Evidently, he had been wrong. Ignoring the truth in favour of his eyes; he chastised himself bitterly for it until he found her.

A wisp of curls disappearing around the corner headed for the library apparently; He slowed, muting his steps as he pursued her. Concealed in the shadows like a predator on the hunt, she didn’t see him until it was too late.

Having paused to let herself in, he pounced; pushing her inside and slamming her against the door to close it.

She struggled against his hold, but she was still weak, her wings batted uselessly against him as he pinned her, one arm across her shoulders, the other holding his blade to her throat.

“How could you?” He growled, sounding every bit as inhuman as he looked.

Her eyes lowered in defeat and he celebrated his victory, interrogating her would be easy.

“H-How did you find out?”

He scoffed, taking pleasure in her guilt.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out what you are? I suppose it was funny to watch me fawn over you, wondering what you were? I know now… You’re a murderer.”

“Well, I haven’t killed you yet.”

“So, you were waiting for the right time to end me? Just tying up loose ends after killing the rest of my family.”

“The rest of your-?”

“WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT LYING!? Don’t you _dare_ pretend you don’t know what happened on Olympus!” He pressed her against the door harder, trapping her wings earning a grimace “You only just fell, they’ve been decaying up there for centuries! You massacred them.”

Her expression crumpled as she realised his pain, his voice breaking on his last sentence, thick with untamed emotion.

“I wasn’t there.”

“But you knew, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I knew! But I didn’t kill them myself.”

“Your kind did! You planned to murder me! It doesn’t make you blameless!”

He smirked when she finally met his eye, her cheeks sparkled with fresh tears and some sick part of him wanted to take them, collect them, and all that would follow in a bottle to gloat over later; compensation for the pain her kind caused his family.

“I may not be blameless, but I know something you don’t… I couldn’t kill you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I _couldn’t_ kill you, Draco. I wanted to, every iota of training I ever had was leading up to me driving my dagger through your chest. I had orders and here I am, months later, still ignoring them.”

“I-I don’t understand?”

“God wants the underworld, to claim it he needs to cleave you from it, so, he sent me here to kill you; just like he sent my brothers and sisters to their deaths fighting on Olympus. But I couldn’t do it. Father help me I wanted to; so many times that first week, I tried to do my duty; slip my blade between your ribs when you lifted me out of bed, maybe slit your throat while you changed a bandage… But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“Why” he choked out.

“Because you were kind. I couldn’t kill you for that, I owe you a debt…”

“Well then consider it paid, unless you’d rather stay and make an attempt at completing your mission. I can assure you that in your condition I would overpower you easily if I could be bothered to arm you for a fair fight in the first place.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out!”

“What’s left to figure out, Hermione? You lied about who you were, your intentions… You let me sit there-” He gestured at the chaise by the fire before continuing “-and talk about my family knowing they were slaughtered by your kin and you never said a word. So, you didn’t murder me in my sleep, or while I helped you? Am I supposed to thank you for it, be grateful I survived the last few weeks because you couldn’t kill someone so pathetic? Or perhaps you thought you’d toy with me a little longer, make me suffer, have your fun before you executed me?”

Her eyes began to glow, molten with rage like gold in a foundry.

“You stupid, _stupid_ man! Are you so blind you can’t understand? I couldn’t kill you because I love you. I was willing to give up everything, every day I delayed ending your life I assured my own destruction and you have the gall to think, after all this time together that I would go out of my way to make you suffer like this?!”

She tentatively reached her hands up, one resting on his forearm, thumb stroking his skin soothingly, the other resting over his hand where it held the hilt of his dagger.

Her tone even and so quiet it was almost a whisper, she continued.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to hate me… Like you do now. I thought I could protect you from it, that I could protect myself from the truth…”

“I don’t-” He sighed deeply “-I couldn’t ever hate you… But you had no right to keep it from me.”

“I understand that now… It was wrong of me, but I meant what I said.”

“That you love me?”

“Yes; the rest and more too.”

“When did you decide?”

“After you created flowers for me. You left them when you thought I was asleep, I heard you say that you hoped it would help me feel at home… I knew then.”

His grip went slack, and he set her down gently. Still crowded against the door, she looked less wary of him with her feet on solid ground. Empathy crept its way across her features the longer she looked at him and he wondered how defeated he must look, how stupidly vulnerable.

No longer caring, he sheathed his sword, turning his face down only to find her hand catching against his cheek in a gentle caress. What possessed him to lean into her touch he didn’t know; only that to feel her again was to know bliss.

He loved her too… But could he voice it now? Could he face the shame of intending to hurt her? To make her cry out the way his heart did at the macabre sight of his butchered family.

Perhaps there was another way? Something to convey how deeply he needed to apologise for his mindless violence and express his thoughts for him. He considered it for a moment, resisting the urge to step away from her, lest he close the door on whatever opportunity was presenting itself after her admission.

If he could find it in his heart to let go of his need for vengeance, open it to her instead, forgive; then he could proceed, but the only way to unlock such a thing was to take action.

So, he decided, in a split second, he resolved to make what might have been his most idiotic mistake.

 

oOo

Hermione’s heart was breaking, watching Draco, the proud King of the Underworld, Hades himself disintegrate into his grief.

She could understand the fury, the need for vengeance any way he could get it; she could take it, absorb his pain and cruelty… Her heart was protected by a force greater than any obstacle, stronger than any harsh words thrown at it.

When his lips crashed against hers, she wondered if it was possible to taste agony, his kiss was almost acrid, sharp and electric until she shed her state of shock and returned it. Her need melded with his to create something bittersweet and beautiful.

There was something inherently exciting about the forbidden. She delved deeper, exploring him with her tongue, nipping at him gently, hands seeking purchase and flesh as she reached through his robes and rucked up his shirt in a hasty attempt to remove it.

It was fast but she needed something, anything to ease the tension to slake the want building in her, driving her mad.

She could tell he felt it too; the deadly craving for more, always more than he could have, or so he thought… Only this time she was receptive and ready to give; no fear, no hesitation, no teasing, she would give him everything to prove herself, to express how much she truly loved him.

Because if there was one thing she knew for certain; no man, God or mortal kissed like that unless he loved the recipient in return, and she planned to take advantage of that fact in the best way.

She dragged him closer, her wings spreading behind her, a more comfortable position for them considering she was letting him press her against the library door again. She rocked into him, feeling unrestrained and bold, she let a hand trail down to palm his hardening length pressing insistently between them.

Bonding herself to him like that, giving up her virtue, it would splice her from heaven in the most finite of ways; a last ‘fuck you’ to her creator and his war, before she was unshackled from Heaven and set free.

God’s perfect soldier, the light bringer, chosen, raised above her siblings to carry out His mission, His divine plan… It was all a sham, an identity, driven by incentives so her creator could manipulate her. In her time with Draco, she had learned how toxic it had been.

Falling for him had opened her eyes to such wonderful, new possibilities and that small voice that first spoke to her, first tempted her to rebel; Well she soon realised it was her true self, begging to be released, now unconfined it led her, taught her and validated her like nothing and no one else had.

She had made her admissions to herself, confessed them, done her thinking, done her time pondering sacrifice, right and wrong, the meaning of betraying everything she had ever known for the one person in the universe that had shown her true, unsolicited kindness.

Heaven seemed like paradise, but to her, it was anything but; looking back with unbiased eyes it had been cold, ruthless and bland, so void of emotion she wondered how she had ever survived it. Angels were expected to act, think and feel the same (or not feel at all); having experienced a myriad of new emotions with Draco as her guide, she understood that suppression was as much a form of torture as pain.

Even if she wasn’t in love with the king of Hell (though she very much was), she would never have wanted to give up the vibrant wheel of emotions she had learned to experience; love was one of many that he had guided her to and she was ultimately grateful… However, at present, there was little more she could contemplate about it with lust ruling every part of her mind once his mouth parted from hers and journeyed down her chest.

Leaving the recesses of introspective thought, she returned to reality to find it far more pleasing, he had gently, even reverently parted her robe to reveal her breasts. His mouth worked at her nipple and her head dropped back with an audible thud against the door when he pulled it taut between his teeth, his palm and dexterous fingers working at its twin ensuring it didn’t resent the other’s attention.

Heat pooled at her core and her hands found purchase in his hair until she simply had enough of waiting.

Taking charge, she pulled him up abruptly, leading him to the chaise and pushing him down onto it, her robes hanging haphazardly, the tie barely holding the separated silk fabric together.

He was remarkably obedient for someone so forceful mere moments ago and she found herself rather thrilled at the thought of dominating him a little, taking control and letting him along for the ride. Perhaps next time; this time was all about taking their time with each other; her learning and…

Oh.

Well, she’d never thought to inquire about his history. She’d just assumed.

“Have you-” he kissed her when she took a breath and she frowned “Ever-?” He pressed the heel of his hand to the juncture of her thighs and she lost all coherent thought at the sensation of pressure and contact.

“I have, but it didn’t feel like this.”

She rocked her hips, grinding against his palm and understood exactly what he meant. It felt… Honestly, there was nothing to describe how it felt only that it was the most sublime sensation, set apart from every other feeling and somehow intrinsically linked with their emotions.

He looked up at her, questioning until she realised she was still grinding against his hand, softly mewling with each roll of her hips.

“Can I…?” His fingers skirted the edge of her underwear and she realised she had wanted them off yesterday.

She quickly swung her leg over him and stood, peeling her knickers down her legs and kicking them off before returning to her spot, straddled over his hips.

Once she was comfortable, his hands found their way into her robe, exploring the naked flesh beneath with keen curiosity. It felt wonderful.

His fingers danced lightly over her stomach, the bow of her robe serving no purpose at all. He untied it carefully, letting the smooth fabric slide itself free of the knot, the sensation of it falling against her skin made goosebumps prickle up her spine.

Bending to kiss him again she barely noted that he was significantly overdressed, her hands scrabbled to correct that oversight soon enough, shaking slightly until he involved his own, holding hers still and freeing himself of his traditional garb for her scrutiny.

She’d seen him first thing in the morning, pyjama clad, and sleep deprived, he’d been beautiful then, mussed and perfect; She’d seen him in fine armour, well-tailored suits and ceremonial robes but nothing compared to the pale, smooth planes of his bare skin.

They explored each other for some time, enjoying the warmth building between them, skin to skin, absorbing emotions by osmosis; but not once did he near her wings.

Why it bothered her so much, she wasn’t sure, but his hesitation to touch what would remain the last part of her divinity ruffled her feathers, literally. She had trusted him enough to help preen her, she had seen the awe on his face the first time he felt her healed wings, free of grime and congealed blood.

She decided there would be nothing between them, no reservations, no limits if she was to give it all up for him; she would not stand for it. Diverting one of his hands away from its course up her thigh, she dragged it up her body, over her chest and wrapped it around herself until he understood what she wanted.

“Please, Draco.”

Hair falling around them like a curtain, she pulled back to better see his foreign expression.

“You really aren’t like _them_? Are you?”

He looked up and she couldn’t help giving him a quick peck, he looked so vulnerable, so unguarded; she figured she ought to spell it out for him.

“ _They_ don’t take kindly to soldiers who fail to carry out orders, I won’t kill you and I can’t go home empty handed…”

“So, will you stay, after?”

“They’ll send others.”

“Stay or go, your single God will send more for me anyway.”

“I know.” She sniffled, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. “He won’t wait long; I’ve been gone too long already.”

“Will you fight with me then? When they come, I’ll have my army behind me, but I’d rather not face it alone.”

“Yes…”

He pulled her closer, cradling her against his bare chest until she soothed. Only when her tears subsided did she realise he had been stroking the downy spot where wing met skin.

They started over again.

Frantic with no sense of pace or restraint they collided. A natural embrace that led them back to seeking comfort and promise in each other’s bodies.

He lost his grief in her and she gave him her trust.

And when he finally deemed her sufficiently prepared, he guided her over himself and slipped inside, reaching places she had only dreamed could feel so exquisite, having spent what felt like milliseconds (but may well have been eternity) working his fingers between her legs, rubbing her clit until she jerked above him, she could hardly believe the sensation of being filled so completely by him.

A tiny pinch and she had taken all of him, a single golden tear dripping from her cheek to juxtapose with the blue shade of his skin, darkened by the mark she had left there minutes ago. Her delicate fingers swiped at the golden droplet until it spread over his heart, glistening and catching in the firelight.

He pressed himself back into the cushion, looking up at her with pride. A curious feeling to have during such a moment until she realised it was her claim manifested on him.

Ichor and Aureum mingling to create a contrast. She clenched around him at the thought. They were as close to soulmates as there could ever be, perfect for each other, two halves aligning to find balance.

Her hands once steadying her as she moved above him, taking her pleasure by their mutual demand, moved to cup his face, her heart swelling with feelings so tender she had to be closer, leaning down to fuse their lips and press every possible inch of her body against his.

Deprived of sight with her eyes closed, she found a new world of sensation. Everything felt amplified the sound of his breath more erotic, his hips meeting hers as he pressed deeper into her giving flesh divinely electric, murmuring encouragements and praise when she let him have use of his tongue for something as trivial as speech as intoxicating as wine.

It was new and exhilarating being so intimate with another being, someone that understood her heart, loved her mind so completely… There would never be anything like it and it would never have to end.

Finally, immortality made sense. In his embrace, swirling in a heady haze of sex, unconditional love and sensation, there was a reason to exist for eternity; just him… Her Draco.

They were creating their own place here, something beyond both their realms, beyond their families, beyond difference. Hidden from all others, it was only for them, pure yet unchaste; somewhere only they knew.

His fingers slid between their sweat-slicked bodies to add pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves above where they joined, and she sobbed with joy at how close to breaking it brought her.

“Pleeeease, don’t stop.”

She moaned long and low into his shoulder, biting down when he repeated the movement to silence the scream that bubbled up from her throat.

“Let me hear, don’t hold back.”

She did as he bid, his ensuing thrusts carried more force, in time with his fingers; enough to push her over the edge, her head thrown back, screaming his name towards the heavens in what she would later realise was an act of defiance.

Let the omnipotent, all-seeing, warmonger watch this. Watch her writhe, wanton and moaning for the God she was supposed to kill. ‘Father’; what a joke, he had moulded her and all the others like those petty mortals, from the exact same clay, just a different design, he called them his children, but they were simply his puppets.

With Draco she mattered, she was important, cared for, allowed to be herself, loved for it despite all she had been taught.

This was as much for herself as it was for him. She let her body and her pleasure speak for her, moving desperately in sync with him to chase the last waves of her release and cause his own.

She pulled him up, sitting in his lap, clutching him to her with both arms and wings while it happened; the warmth of his spend flooding her, pulsing deeply until it leaked and pooled between them. She stroked his hair, letting his harsh exhalations dance across her flesh until they sighed in unison.

He returned the favour, revelling in the aftermath, peppering kisses over every available inch, his hands spread securely across her ribs, comfortable resting at the base of her wings (a surprisingly erogenous zone as she quickly discovered). Between each kiss, he whispered apologies like prayers into her skin, letting her absorb them until he met her eyes and spoke in a tone that was neither impaired nor quiet; it was resolute.

“I love you too…”

She smiled, a radiant thing that spread to her entire body; her skin warming under his overjoyed gaze until she was certain she was glowing gold all over.

“…In case you didn’t already know?”

“Don’t worry, I know.”

For now, it was everything she needed and more.

Soon they would face Heaven’s wrath, her fellow archangels would come to complete her mission and perhaps they would die.

Come what may they would at least be together; only time would tell if fate held a chance at victory for the lonely God of Death and the twice fallen Archangel.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I had an absolute blast building this AU, creating a war for territory and control between the Greek Gods and Christian ideology was super fun (even coming up with another term besides ichor for angel's blood, to fit with the gold elements in the aesthetic- aureum -was a joy)
> 
> if you've got any questions, comments or Kudos please feel free to leave them for me, I love hearing feedback from you :) 
> 
> also please go and check out the other works for this fest, I am just in awe of the talent in this group :)


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